


The whole package

by Butterfish



Series: Two Sides [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Romance, Sixth Form, Teenagers, in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfish/pseuds/Butterfish
Summary: Arthur has been forced to come out and be a symbol of his sixth form. If only he could be more like Alfred - relaxed, cool, and confident.





	The whole package

I will tell you something you don’t know about me: I hate people. **  
**

Okay,  _maybe_  hate is too strong a word, but if so then dislike is too weak. See, ever since I was a child all I wanted was to be left alone. I preferred quiet hobbies, like reading and drawing. But because I was raised with manners, those around me always assumed I was being unnecessarily polite. I mean, what kind of guy doesn’t want to play football? I am just being shy! And what kind of teenager doesn’t want to attend a party? I am just being shy! And what kind of person doesn’t want his sexuality to become his personality in sixth form?

I. AM. NOT. BEING. SHY.

Did that get your attention? I get a lot of attention these days. Not because it’s warranted. Some people are known because they deserve to be known. Not just politicians and celebrities and what-not out there on telly. I mean just in a local sixth form. You’ll have someone who runs a petition and manages to change the menu in the cafeteria and become hailed as a hero. And you know what? They deserve it, because they worked to change something and made a difference.

But then there are people like me. “Oh Arthur,” I can already hear you say, “you do make a difference. You made a difference to me! Your recent column on dating while gay just made me feel, well, feels.” Not saying that’s not nice and all, I mean, you’re entitled to your opinion and feelings and all that. Don’t get me wrong. I have no issue with you gaining confidence from my half-arsed advice (and this is not me being shy and polite. My advice is half-arsed. I spend most evenings the day before publication on old Yahoo message boards, stealing quotes from people with usernames such as SexyLegsi001.  _How has no one found out yet?!_ ).

But I don’t deserve to be known. In fact, I don’t even want to be known. Me coming out wasn’t meant to be a statement or a declaration or anything public whatsoever. This is probably opposite what you have heard. So let me explain this once, and once only, so please listen:

I agreed to do the final speech before the summer holidays. It wasn’t something I was excited to do, but it was English teacher Mrs Green’s last year before retirement, and she so wanted to see me on stage. So I agreed. I prepared some short but - in my humble opinion anyway - inspirational few paragraphs about growing up and finding yourself and reflecting yourself in those around you. It was meant to be a nod to Mrs Green’s influence on children throughout her working years as a teacher.

But then my speech was hijacked.

Someone took over the speakers and had me walk out to ‘It’s raining men’ which managed to play for a full two minutes before the principal turned it off. Then, as I stood speaking, my hands shaking and my lips trembling because I hate speaking in front of people but also because I was rather put off by The Weather Girls’ voices (they’re great and all,  _but_ …), then someone managed to break into the screen behind me and project a rainbow flag. And suddenly my speech bears a new connotation. Suddenly I am not speaking of Mrs Green, but of me. Suddenly finding yourself means finding your sexuality, and reflecting yourself in those around you means “hey, I will be your new inspiration!”

And everyone loved it, and so many people congratulated me afterwards, and some even said, “wow, you’re so brave!” and I smiled because I am meant to be grateful to these people for validating me and loving me and making me such a freaking icon.

But I fucking hated them. I hated them more than I have ever hated anyone before. Because I was forced to come out in front of everyone, and I am sure whoever took over my speech didn’t intend it to end the way it did, and maybe this has been unknown to them but they got me better than they would have had everyone hated me. Because now I’m the supposed activist, the know-it-all. The herald of the gay. But all I want is to be left alone.

What do you do when people expect you to be something you’re not? You meet their expectations. So I became the activist, the know-it-all, the herald. I started the advice column. I ran groups for LGBT students. I wore my rainbow badge. I got sassy and sarky. However inside I was disappearing. Little by little, the quiet, unassuming Arthur was falling apart. And I realised that if I didn’t do something soon, something drastic, he would be gone for good.

I wasn’t sure what that drastic thing was going to be. Then I saw Alfred.

It was a Monday. I had skipped the last class of the day and instead found myself hanging out on the street by the gym. It’s a good view, I’ll tell you that, with all the fit guys walking around, but I was only there because I’d agreed to meet a friend. He was running late and I was rummaging through my bag, looking for my phone to text him, when my eyes caught Alfred’s.

He was sat on the other side of the road, his broad frame casting a long shadow, and once our eyes locked I found it difficult to look away. See, Alfred is one of these guys who are known because they deserve it. He has gotten more awards for his ability in sport and science than any other kid in school. So I found him intimidating to say the least, but I also found him interesting. Because while I have spent my whole life being someone else for everyone, Alfred seemed to have spent his becoming who he wanted to be. Fit, cool, popular.

And I wanted to say, “Hello, I really think you’re impressive and I would love to spend some time with you,” but that would be the real me, because the real me is awkward and gentle but also really honest.

Instead I fumbled for some words that would fit the snarky Arthur I was meant to be, and, as he didn’t stop staring, I called, “You ain’t all that.”

It got his attention. At least he seemed to narrow his eyes and huff at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

I could hear anger in his voice. Anger is always better than praise, so I felt encouraged. “That you ain’t all that,” I said and caught a glimpse of his face. He was sweating, I noted. It was dripping down his forehead. It made him look flustered. “I mean, you’ve got most of it. But you’re not fully there.”

“Oh yeah? Well you ain’t all that either,” he snapped.

I bit my inner cheek and shuddered. I knew I wasn’t all that. I never wanted to be all that. For a moment, I hoped that maybe he had realised and would call me out on my bullshit and give me a chance to end it once and for all. I dared him: “Oh yeah? Well, I think I’m the whole package. What you got that I haven’t?”

He hesitated for a second, then he replied, “Well, I am not walking down that road with you.”

I felt a sting of disappointment. “No? ‘fraid?”

“Of nothing,” he boasted, “What makes you think I am missing anything?”

The fact that I am. I looked him in the eyes and for a second, I thought I saw something in there, like a reflection of myself, and the real Arthur, the quiet one, in me spoke: “Maybe the way you’ve been looking at me.”

And I tell you the truth here: Alfred Jones blushed. He got red as he replied, “Oh yeah?”

All I could do was to smile, “Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re wrong on that one,” he said.

And I lowered my gaze back into my bag, noting the text message from my friend on the phone screen promising me that he was ‘only five minutes away’. I said, “Maybe I am, but that’d be too bad, though.” And I meant it.

Because the real me inside had started to scream. He had started to bang on my insides, and he was shouting, ‘Let me speak to him, let me have him, let me charm him, give me the chance to let him see me.’ But before I got to think everything through, Alfred got up and started walking uphill towards a car, and in a sudden spur of the moment I let inner Arthur speak: “What, you’re not going to offer a ride?”

I was sure he was going to laugh and turn me down. Instead, he held the door open as I crawled onto the back seat.

We sat next to each other. I was slumped back in a relaxed position, but my head was screaming. Every time the car moved around a corner, I leaned a little to the side, and I worried if he could feel my quick heartbeat like a rhythm in the air. Could he hear it? Could he sense that I was nervous? Surely he could when I, encouraged by the silence, blurted, “I’m a friend from school.”

“Oh, I’ve not seen you around before?” his dad spoke, and I couldn’t stop my rambling from continuing:

“Oh, Al here, he’s embarrassed about having a friend like me.” I didn’t dare to look at Alfred. I was sure he was boiling with anger by now. But the more I said, the more relief I felt inside. As if I had been a hungry man recently fed. I felt like I got exactly what I needed.

And I couldn’t let it go.

I fumbled inside of my bag as we approached midtown, and my fingertips brushed across a flyer from my newest group meeting. I hadn’t even handed them out to anyone yet. They were meant to be approved by the board. But, I thought, if I only give one to one person, then only one person will show up, and only one person has to know…

And I wanted, no, I  _needed_  that person to be Alfred.

So as I slipped out of the car, I crammed the leaflet in my hand as I reached to shake his. “Well,” I said, surely my voice shaking, “Been a pleasure, Al,” and with that I backed away from the car as quickly as I could, and I made my way into a nearby alleyway to hide in the shadows.

Only then could I breathe freely. Only then did I think about all I had done. I had flirted my way into Mr Jones’ car. (Okay, his dad’s car, but still. I’m sure he’ll have it one day.) I had hinted that he was gay. More-so, I had indicated that he should discuss this whole thing with me.

And I felt guilt, because I knew that if it wasn’t for my fake open personality, then Alfred would have never spoken with me, or invited me to sit in the car, or even taken the flyer from my sweaty palm without questioning it. But at the same time I felt that if I had to deal with people on a daily basis, I could at least have one person around whom I could deal with looking at.

Just then my phone buzzed. My friend had texted me twenty times, asking where I was at. Oops.


End file.
